


Five Times Michael Didn't Quite Understand and One Time He Definitely Didn't

by WeShallSee



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: And They're Both Saints For Letting Jeremy Stay Over, Childhood Friends, Divorce, Michael Mell Has Two Moms, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, References to Depression, Short & Sweet, They're kiddos in these first few
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-11 13:05:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17447528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeShallSee/pseuds/WeShallSee
Summary: Wanted to write short snippits of Jeremy and Michael bein' Good Friends through Tough Times, and this happened.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had this posted a while ago but Now It's Edited, Better, Nice.

Michael was infinitely cool in Jeremy's twelve-year-old eyes. He had all the D&D handbooks _including_ the Monster Manual, he had an awesome bedroom in his basement _with_ beanbags, and he somehow, magically, didn’t mention Jeremy's mom. Even as he stayed over through the weeks after she left (for good this time, she'd made that clear, infinitely clear). Even as he was quickly realizing the exact depths of what his dad had been feeling for the last couple years (Jeremy hadn't understood why dad couldn't just accept that she would stay out late sometimes, she said she had needs, after all, his dad had fucked it all up for not accepting that. Jeremy knew what ‘fuck’ meant, now. Multiple meanings. Words were tricky like that). Even as Jeremy lay stagnant for days in the fold-out couch Michael used for a bed (his chest felt like it had been hollowed out by a melon-baller, his eyes itched from salt and brine and more _fucking_ salt, he wanted to scream but he couldn't find the energy for it).

"Dude," Michael coaxed, ruffling up Jeremy's greasy hair, brushing it back from his forehead. "You stank.” Understatement of the century. “C'mon, if you don't wanna take a bath, I'm gonna fill up the kiddie pool and, like, chuck bars of soap at you."

"I don't want to take a bath," Jeremy confirmed. Somehow, Michael’s joking idea sounded more plausible. Less profoundly overwhelming. Jeremy had nightmares about shutting the door behind him for just one moment and somehow knowing that everyone else he loved was packing up the good car to run away from him in the moments he couldn’t see them. He still didn't know how to express how grateful he was that Michael left the door to the basement open, letting Jeremy hear his footsteps as he maneuvered around the house, talking to his moms, singing along to the radio.

Michael grinned, even if it was strained. He was good at ignoring the emotions of things, or maybe he _couldn’t_ figure out the emotions entirely, but Jeremy could _see_ how much he wanted to understand this particular strain of frightened numbness. "Kiddie pool it is, then!"

Jeremy's memory fuzzed out (it had been doing that oftener and oftener, doing things was so hard now and Jeremy could feel the world become un-real every time he tested his permanently low battery), and then he was out of bed, sitting on a plastic porch chair as Michael fumbled with the garden hose, trying to dump dish soap into the steadily filling kiddie pool and consequently trying to lower the bubble content. Jeremy thought about getting up to help.

And then more fuzz, and Michael was offering him a pair of swim trunks to change into, and they were both distinctly, horrifically self-conscious. Michael kept apologizing about the size of them, folding his shoulders in like he could shrink down to Jeremy's size if he compacted himself down more. Jeremy kept tugging at the material of the trunks, hesitating at the bathroom door like he was still waiting for Michael to hand him a swim shirt too, something to just cover up and hide and stay safe in. More fuzz overtook the second he finally stepped inside the bathroom.

And then came the moment itself, when Jeremy was finally in trunks (dirty tee-shirt still on, there were certain things he couldn't confront today), and Michael was squeezing scented shampoo into his hair, and there was enough sun on Jeremy's skin that his only vague worry was that he'd burn by tomorrow. Michael had tossed a few bars of soap at him to complete his promise from before, and though Jeremy didn't laugh yet, he smiled. Just for half a second, just until a rush of guilt washed over him again. But Michael grinned anyway, voice going quieter for a second, like how it did when he was muttering thoughts to himself as he watched a movie.

"You don't have to keep worrying I'm gonna leave you, Miah. I'm staying right here. I’m staying.”

Jeremy was red with sunburn the next day, but the fuzz retreated enough for him to sit up and rub aloe gel over it all before he drifted off to sleep again, to the sound of Michael mumbling along to the radio and flipping through the Monster Manual.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy's 15 and shitty which is to be expected, Michael's 15 and Somehow Decent?

It was the night before the first day of freshman year, and Jeremy was perfecting the skill of acting like he was too tired to go home.

Summer was still clinging to everything, in the way the stale basement air was thick with smoke, in the way Jeremy stayed stubbornly down there anyway because even with the air conditioner humming away upstairs, the basement was still the coldest room in the house.

It wasn’t even late yet. Jeremy made a loose guess that it was nearer to eight than to the overly dramatic two AM it was in his head, but he was trying to act like he’d been up for ages anyway. Head leaning against the back of Michael’s shoulder. Trying to mentally block out the sharp blips of Michael playing some time-waster on his phone.

“You asleep?” Michael whispered. He hadn’t moved an inch to try and peek at Jeremy, but all in all, maybe the bone-tired way Jeremy was draping himself against Michael spoke enough to warrant the question.

“Mmph,” Jeremy said, because he was just that articulate. Michael didn’t seem to mind. Michael was majorly good at not minding things. Jeremy figured it was only right that he minded and worried about and fussed over everything in return, just to balance out the equation.

“Are you gonna go home?”

Jeremy grumbled in return, shifting onto his side so his ear was pressed up against Michael’s back as he slouched. Jeremy should, technically, go home. His dad had acted like his promised breakfast of waffles with canned whipped cream for the first day of school was the most exciting thing since the invention of faking a smile, which Jeremy guessed meant that his dad really wanted to have breakfast. Together.

There was some cathartic, guilty pleasure in making sure he’d crush that hope. He felt mean. He felt kinda vindicated.

Besides, Michael’s moms liked to make cinnamon rolls whenever Jeremy was over.

“I mean, I guess if you walk in reeking of weed, your dad won’t be too happy,” Michael continued, his voice taking on that floaty, musing tone he got whenever he was two words away from theorizing. “Someone should make perfume for stoners, find the exact smell-frequency to counteract it all. Spritz, spritz, you smell like nothing now.”

Jeremy hummed some half-there reply as Michael kept talking, of scents and bits of whales that rolled up on beaches and a life spent searching down trash from the sea as a get-rich-quick scheme.

The weed wasn’t a problem. Michael’s moms were out for the night and the basement windows were wide open and Jeremy would abandon his clothes down here in the morning in exchange for fitting into some of Michael’s hand-me-downs. If he went home, weed wouldn’t be an issue either. Jeremy wondered if his dad didn’t say anything about the smell because he thought he was being a chill parent for letting it slide or because he didn’t want to start another argument that could mutate into something the both of them still couldn’t handle.

Michael turned, finally. Jeremy stayed limp so he crumpled down into Michael’s lap, curls flopping into his face. He needed a haircut. He was also too worried he’d end up being too hasty with the scissors again and end up with a misshapen look that makes him stand out a fraction more, enough to get hounded down in the halls. Michael poked the hair in Jeremy’s eyes back with the butt of his phone.

“Are you, like—Actually tired?” Michael asked. And Jeremy felt caught. He felt like he was being petulant, leaning on Michael like this, watching him through his bleary, squinted eyes, trying to formulate a response that isn’t childish.

What he ended up saying was this: “Just nervous about tomorrow.” Because he was a fucking mastermind and he’d learned to hide lies behind smaller, easier lies. And he was selfish. Of course.

Michael grinned like he’s found the truth of it all, though. And he shoved his phone aside to tangle both hands up in Jeremy’s hair, finger-combing through it. So maybe it’s okay to be selfish right now.

“Dude, I _get_ that. I think everyone’s nervous about high school, that’s just the universal given, y’know?”

“Maybe,” Jeremy said. Slowly, like he’s relenting a long-held point.

“Maybe,” Michael mimicked back. “ _Definitely._ I’m nervous. And I’m, like, cool guy extraordinaire over here. Please, hold the applause. The app-louse.”

“The applesauce.”

“Hold that, too. Suffer sugary hands for the innate appreciation of my stardom, Jeremiah.”

Jeremy snorted, a slow smile washing over him. Yeah. This was okay. Michael won’t make him go home, if the way he was already kicking off his shoes and getting up to rummage around the plastic bins of his old clothes was any indication. So Jeremy was safe to pull off his sweater, deem sweatpants and a tee-shirt good enough to sleep in, and pull the covers up so he could nearly-almost-smother himself with a pillow until Michael came back.

It was the night before the first day of freshman year, and Jeremy was pretending he was asleep as Michael shoved him over enough to have covers for himself and murmured a soft, “Miah, you _suck_ at pretending you’re not nervous. Goodnight, you great big faker.”

Jeremy smiled into his pillow, selfish and grateful and so damn glad that Michael was only half-right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come to think of it. literally all jeremy does is hide huge emotional problems behind smaller emotional problems.


End file.
